


The Kiss

by evilleaper



Series: Dark Shadows over Time [7]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilleaper/pseuds/evilleaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple declaration leads to so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All things Quantum Leap, eg: Sam Beckett & Al Calavicci belong to Donald P Bellisario and no infringement to copyright is intended. However the idea for this piece of fan fiction and words herein belong to me and should not be linked or copied without my permission.
> 
> Authors notes: This is the prequel to the Dark Shadows over Time series. It was written after Haunted and is part five of the DSOT series. Please keep in mind that this story contains Australian spelling. It is also old, just new to AO3.
> 
> Thanks: To beta's PJ & Carol W who always make what I write easier to read.

**Sam - Washington 1994**

We'd been laughing a moment ago. I can still feel the muscles necessary to do so pulled taut across my heated face. Tears prompted by Al's off colour joke sting my eyes and escape to slide down my cheeks. My smile, the one he had just told me he loved, fades along with the levity in the room as I raise my free hand to cover my rising embarrassment and to wipe away the tears that have fallen.

"I know," I manage somehow. And I did I realised, I have always known that Al loved me.

So why did I suddenly feel like I have had an answer similar in importance to that of world peace all the years we have been friends, and only now admitted to having it? As if a door that was meant to be kept closed had opened over the span of the last few moments, revealing a truth I wasn't sure either of us was ready to deal with. 

"Are you okay?" Al queries. His tone, like the general mood slowly enveloping us both is serious now, boarding on concerned, I note as I lower my hand and lift my eyes to meet his gaze.

"Yes," I assure him, forcing a small self-conscious smile to alleviate some of his quiet obvious anxiety but failing miserably, I think.

Al nods at my answer but I don't think he believes me. His eyes seem to know different somehow. Seeing right through me to expose my true thoughts and it is only a bare second or two before I find myself looking away from him again, unable to maintain eye contact. 

I drain the beer in my hand, attempting to moisten lips that have gone dry and to unravel the feelings coiling inside of me. Al and I were friends; it was natural to feel a certain amount of warmth and comfort in each other's company. To say things to one another that perhaps under different circumstances or if we had not been friends for as long as we have that might never be said.

We were also celebrating, I remind myself, stretching a little in the armchair I occupied to survey the disorder we had created for want of a better place to look. The empty beer bottles spread out on the low table separating Al and I, and the cloud of smoke hanging overhead was proof of the lengths we had gone to relax after a day spent dealing with my Project's committee. Successfully convincing them by the end of the lengthy affair to extend our funding for yet another twelve months so that my research could be continued and in hopes that my dream to travel in time could finally be realised.

Al had been amazing I ponder, chancing a brief glance in his direction and recalling his no nonsense approach with Senator Weitzman and the others. No, I correct myself he hadn't just been amazing, he had been truly inspiring, confident in a manner I don't think I will ever be able to emulate. Urging me to face those whom would criticize me, to prove my theories and myself. Only the man whose mere presence could lift me from the depths of despair to feeling as if I could take on the world single-handed now appeared oddly afraid.

"Al?"

"I'm sorry," he offers, his expression growing graver by the minute.

"Why?"

"Because of what I said, Sam."

"There's no need to apologize." I reply, my previous embarrassment resurfacing somewhat, but I knew instinctively that whatever Al had meant by his declaration, no harm had been intended. We weren't just friends we were best friends; enjoying a level of kinship unlike anything I have known before. We should be able to tell each other we cared without fear of rejection or that it be taken as something it was not. It would be okay, I decided glancing away yet again.  


It was just, and I guess this was the crux of the matter. Why I felt as I did. But the last person who declared they loved me had left me not long afterwards and I know that even though I have tried to put it behind me, to focus on my Project, any kind of open affection still made me feel uncomfortable. The fact that Al was another man didn't come into it I told myself.

"Do you want me to go?" I hear him ask just as my mind begins to wander, the tone of his voice low and uncertain.

I shake my head no, my eyes carefully diverted as I examined the empty bottle in my hands. Despite what I knew in my heart I still found it difficult to look at Al for very long, and I hoped as I rolled the bottle so that I could study the label on its other side, that the difficulty I was having would pass soon. I can feel his eyes on me though, watching me closely as I try for his sake to appear relaxed, unmoved by the tension in the room, and the memories of how I had felt when I waited with him for Donna's arrival on what had been planned as our wedding day years earlier. Cursing my perfect memory with all its intricate detail and my own foolishness for letting it bother me after all this time.

It had been Al who had finally convinced me to leave the church. To accept that waiting for Donna even after the others had left wouldn't somehow make her magically change her mind and come to me I remembered, as I scratch at the sodden paper clinging to the side of the bottle. He had taken me home as soon as I had explained to the priest that there wasn't going to be a ceremony after all. Not once asking me if I wanted company or not. Al had just stayed with me until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, making sure that I had showered, and gone to bed. Leaving me with strict instructions to call if I needed anything. He had also removed my tuxedo before he had left that night, even though I didn't realise he had returned it to the rental company for some time after. A receipt just arrived one day, weeks after the non-event to inform me that my deposit had been refunded to my credit card and to thank me for my patronage. It was a single slip of paper neatly folded inside a plain envelope, but like Al's admission it had reawakened the feelings I have tried desperately to reconcile since that time. Feelings that I thought I had, I muse as I manage to remove the last of the label from the bottle, lifting it from the moist surface to study it further.

"I can go downstairs and see if there is another room available if you want me to?" Al suggests, his interjection thankfully rescuing me from my reverie.

I sigh, shaking my head again. "I don't," I tell him, lifting my gaze a fraction but not quite meeting his eyes. "You don't have to go anywhere, Al. I'm okay, I'm just tired." I explain.

Mostly it was true, I was tired. Perhaps in the morning after a good night’s sleep I would be feeling a little more like myself again, but for now I didn't want to let on to Al where my thoughts had taken me.

Time takes care of all wounds I believe, and it was simply more time that I needed before I could completely heal the scars left on my heart by Donna Elesee. To accept that anyone loved me without feeling as if I needed to guard against the inevitable loss that would occur when the relationship ended.

I knew it was different with Al and I, the same things that had been incorporated in my relationship with Donna didn't complicate the bond he and I shared and to be perfectly honest I wasn't even sure why I was comparing the two. There was nothing that could come between us. I was being foolish, the proverbial wet blanket, I chide myself as I lean forward to place the discarded label and the bottle back on the table alongside those already there. Raising my eyes when I have finished to once again meet Al's solemn expression and finding myself more than a little disconcerted by his continuing ill ease.

If Al had appeared afraid before, he looked positively terrified now. But why I wondered? I knew he didn't mean anything by what he'd said. His hand was also trembling I realised, as I watch him attempt to put out the joint he had been enjoying up until a few minutes ago. Had I caused this? This awkwardness between us. Was my reaction to his harmless disclosure the reason why he seemed so unsure of himself now? Did he seriously think I thought he was making a pass at me? 

"Please, Al I'm sorry. I'm okay," I repeat.

It's no good though; Al is past hearing what I am saying now. Ignoring me completely and rising to his feet when he finally gives up trying to put out the smouldering heap in the ashtray and running his fingers through his hair in an obvious show of frustration. I lean across the table to take care of the remains in the ashtray when he turns away, and then not sure what else I can say, I simply watch him navigate around assorted pieces of furniture to find a space in which to pace in. The area he chooses is between the twin beds positioned on the other side of our shared room and only allows two steps in either direction before he is forced to turn around again. 

"How long have you known?" he questions, then pauses, noting my observation with eyes that demand I answer him.

I feel a wave of unfamiliar fear wash over me as Al and I stare at one another. A sensation dissimilar to anything I have felt in all the time I have known him. He seems almost angry now, more at himself than at me I think, but it doesn't change the decidedly uncomfortable way I feel about the current topic of conversation. Somehow though I know what he is asking me. But why he needs clarification seems odd, unnecessary under the circumstances.

"I'm not sure exactly, years I guess," I tell him, wanting only to reassure him now. To make him understand that it really was okay, that I wasn't offended by anything he'd said.

Al doesn't look reassured though, far from it in fact and it is only then that I realise that my first instincts had been correct.  


I feel my throat close over and my mouth go suddenly dry as my initial reaction to Al telling me he loved me revives my feelings that this was not something that either of us could deal with. Weren't ever meant to discuss, and as I sit fighting to still my now racing heart the same eyes that have demanded confirmation, verify my suspicions.

I don't recall standing up or turning my back on him. Nor do I think I planned to do so. Somehow though, I find myself moving, putting some distance between us so that I can decipher the emotions and thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.

This wasn't real, wasn't happening I think when I come to stand in front of the large picture window in our room. I am not sure what to do, how to cover the sudden turmoil inside of me. My own hands tremble a little as I draw back the drapes to stare at the Washington skyline and at the millions of tiny lights spread out across the city below me. I had to be drunker than I had thought I was, or was I dreaming I ask myself. It doesn't feel like a dream though. It feels strange, like my world has suddenly tilted out of obit and now I find myself standing on some foreign planet, surrounded by strangers. I can see the Washington monument in the distance however, confirming my location and when I lift my gaze again I can also see Al standing by the foot of the twin beds, his grief stricken features clearly reflected in the window.

I know he is probably waiting for me to say something but I don't know what to do let alone say right now. I feel frightened though I don't know why. I want to turn and face him again; he deserves that much but just the thought of doing so makes me feel as if I will only hurt him if I do. I loved Al, but I couldn't return his feelings. I couldn't love anyone and the idea that anyone could love me on the same level he was indicating felt as alien a concept as the situation that I found myself in now. I close my eyes on that thought, resting my forehead against the windowpane, wanting to simply erase the last few minutes of my life. To completely forget about the woman who had broken my heart and to go back to the way things had been before my best friend had told me he was in love with me.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know how long I lean against the windowpane before the sound and clear urgency of Al's voice startles me out of the temporary safety of my self-imposed solitude.

"Sam," he is calling repeatedly, and I open my eyes and look up, once more catching his reflection in the window.

I feel myself tense, my back and shoulders going rigid. The sight of Al now standing only a few feet away brings on yet another wave of unfamiliar anxiety and I have to quite literally remind myself to relax. To remember that this wasn't some stranger making unwelcome advances. Al was someone I had proudly called friend for the better part of fifteen years and there was absolutely no reason for me to behave as I am. It didn't matter what Donna had done. Al didn't deserve to be treated badly simply because he had told me something I didn't want to hear. And even though I am still reeling from the shock of actually hearing the words as I slowly manage to settle myself, I am also reminded that he hadn't told me anything I wasn't already aware of.

Our gazes meet in the window at that moment. "Sam," he says again, less urgently this time and I sigh, releasing the grip I have on the drapes.

The whole situation between the two of us still feels strangely unreal. How on earth it was ever going to feel normal again, I honestly can't imagine at this point but I know no matter how strange it all seems I can't just stand here and pretend it's not really happening.

I look past Al's reflection and gaze out at the night sky, it was cold enough to snow outside, and I guessed by morning it probably would. But despite the warmer temperature of our hotel room, I find myself shivering as I finally turn to face the man calling my name, wrapping my arms around myself to try and add some warmth to my chilled frame and to hide the fact that my hands are still shaking ever so slightly.

The evidence of Al's own ill ease is clearly written in his weary expression as we regard one another. His dark eyes are very bright, unnaturally so I note when I manage to lift mine to his. Please, I think hugging myself a little tighter, don't let it be tears that are causing them to appear that way, but even as I make my silent plea I know that it's true.

"I'm sorry," I say, unsure of just how long he had been trying to gain my attention before I had realized it and feeling very uncomfortable about the fact that after so many years of friendship that I can't think of anything else to say to him.

Al doesn't answer immediately; simply he shrugs his shoulders in the usual non-committal way he has when words fail him. "It's okay," he offers after a moment or two of uneasy silence. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Sam, not you."

I know I should say something but I don't argue with Al even though I also know he's not entirely at fault here. I shouldn't have let him think I hadn't noticed the way our relationship has evolved over the years we've known one another or the way he looks at me from time to time, and the realization of my own cowardice only adds to the difficulty that I am still having holding his gaze. I glance away again; taking a step back towards the sofa to rest against its solid structure. I wasn't handling this very well and yet I know for both our sakes I have to do better than I am.  


I sigh again; my eyes carefully diverted once more as I smooth the plush fabric under my hands, wondering how I could possibly do what I needed to if I couldn't even look at Al for more than a moment or two.

"I don't know what to say, Al," I tell him. "I know you care about me. That in your own way, you love…" I can't finish my sentence, and I shake my head, ruing the fact that after so long even the word itself is difficult for me to say aloud.

"I do," Al says and I cast my gaze back in his general direction, somehow finding the courage to actually meet his eyes as he goes on. "But I know I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to Sam, it's just you were smiling and you don't smile anywhere near as much as you should. We did so well today. You looked so happy, the happiest I've seen you in ages. I got caught up watching you, seeing you laugh. In the moment..."

Al's words trail off then and for a few seconds we simply stare at one another. "The moment?" I query, though I have a fair idea to what he is referring.  


Casting my mind back I clearly recall the moments prior to Al's unexpected declaration. The warmth in the room that had nothing to do with the hotels central heating, the enthusiasm in which he had shared his joke with me. The glow in his cheeks that had brightened when we had both laughed. It had been safe, warm, happiness in its purest form, feelings born out of love and friendship I muse. The moments and feelings that had followed once the words had been spoken were different however, though no less memorable I realise as I contemplate them again now. Time seemed to stop for no more than an instant but during that period I had felt a door open somewhere. A rush of air and then both Al and I had been transported outside of time and space to be suspended at the very edge of an invisible precipice. A place that had terrified me I remember, and from which I had turned and retreated from as quickly as I had been able to because of what it had revealed. What I have come to fear more than anything else since Donna left.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to dispel the memory, but it is no use, the fear and feelings of loss are still there when I open them again and I have to force myself to concentrate, to once again remember, where I was, and who I was with.

Al, I note when I can focus on him again has continued to regard me closely while I have reflected on what had occurred between us, reliving the moments in question right along with me I believe. His rolled shoulders and the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment noticeably mar his usually confident stance. He looks almost beside himself with grief, I think, eyeing him cautiously over my shoulder. And it occurs to me as I go on to take in the full extent of his stricken appearance that not even when he had told me that Sharon, his last wife had filed for a divorce had he appeared as he did now. Like he'd lost his best friend I realise in an instant of unsurpassed clarity.

The gravity of my last thought cuts me deep; both shaming and frightening me because of the possibilities it presented. I still don't know what I should say to him or how we were going to get through this, but the longer Al and I maintain the tentative eye contact we have established the more aware I become of the pain reflected back at me and the responsibility I feel because of it. I was hurting him, as I knew I would. It couldn't be any other way though. I couldn't offer him, or anyone else for that matter, more than I already did.

Yes I loved him, it was very difficult not to once I'd gotten to know him. I'd lost my brother and then a few years later, my father as well and in many ways when Al and I had become friends he had filled both roles. Filled the spaces left in my heart by all those I had lost over the years, including Donna I think, as I finally drag my eyes away from the man still watching me and simply stare down at my hands, gripping the cushioned back of the sofa I am using for support to steady me further.

I feel very ashamed of myself, accepting everything Al had offered me, when in the back of my mind I had all the time suspected there was more than just friendship shining back at me through his dark warm eyes. Only I hadn't wanted to admit it, hadn't wanted to ever face what I was being forced to deal with now.

"We should talk," I hear myself whisper, a little surprised by the sound of my own voice and I look up again, wondering if my words have carried to the one they were intended for.

Al has moved during the last few moments, returning once again to the twin beds on the other side of the room, he has his back turned to me now and is bent over the bed that he had claimed earlier this morning when we arrived.

I am not sure if he has heard me or not but I let go of the sofa so that I can see what he is doing without straining my neck, once again wrapping my loose arms around my upper body.

"Al," I call, repeating my comment and taking a hesitant step towards him.

There is still no reply but from my new vantage point I can see the suitcase Al had brought with him from New Mexico lying on the top of his neatly made bed. The significance of it being there doesn't occur to me immediately. Too many questions of why this was happening to us occupy my thoughts and it is only when his overcoat appears from nowhere and he slips it over his arm that I realise that he fully intends to make good his earlier offer to leave.

"Al, where are you going?"  


"I don't know yet," he returns, his voice breaking up under the strain as he continues to make adjustments to his luggage with the added burden of his coat wrapped around his arm.

I stand for a moment, transfixed, disbelieving the sight of Al as he struggles with the fastenings on his suitcase and not for the first time tonight my world tilts around me, spiralling me once again into unknown territory. This can't be happening my mind demands. He can't just leave.

I feel myself begin to shake. My earlier fear that he had already given up, accepted the loss of our friendship because of what he had inadvertently told me returns suddenly and I drop my arms to my sides. Horrified, beyond description. Without thinking I cross the space between us, pulling myself up just short of actually reaching out and touching him. Something, I'm not sure what, making it impossible for me to bridge the physical gap between us. "Al, we have to talk about this. You can't just walk out."

Al doesn't respond though, the renewed tension radiating from him as I tower over him is obvious. I want to reach out and still his hands, stop him before he finishes. Stop him from leaving. From leaving me, a voice from within whispers, but it's no use; I can't make myself move.

Without any interference from me, Al manages to secure his belongings to his satisfaction and as he straightens I back off to give him space to turn around in.

Face to face once again, Al stands a little straighter than before, his posture belying the turmoil permeating between us. His luggage is gripped firmly in one hand now while his other supports his coat but he appears very much like a man ready to be relieved of his duty for the last time. Holding my gaze intently. "I screwed up, Sam," he informs me. "And really kid, I don't think talking about it is going to make a helluva lot difference, do you?"

"I don't know," I tell him, my mind reeling. A lump forming in my throat that feels as if it was going to choke me.

Honestly I have no idea what difference talking about Al's feelings could make but what I did know was that if I let him simply walk away now it would mean the end of everything we shared. It wouldn't be my doing, but something told me that once Al stepped foot outside our room he wouldn't be back. And why he would forfeit a position I know he loves, that he believes in, and a friendship that means just as much to him as it does to me when he professed to love me was truly beyond me.

It didn't make sense and I shake my head in answer to Al's blank expression. Forcing the lump in my throat down I speak before I can think about what should and shouldn't be said. Confusion and a growing hurt of my own leading me down a path to God knows where. 

"Is that all you have to say, Al?" I demand, throwing up my hands in frustration. "You screwed up, so what now, you're just going to leave and never mind anything else? What about us? The Project? Doesn't any of it matter now?"

I see Al flinch but once again he doesn't answer me. Now obviously holding his current position against his better judgment, I watch his whole being tense, his face alter to display a more guarded expression and his usually firm chin lift ever so slightly as he regards me in a manner in which I never seen before.

He was bracing himself I realised, as if… he thought, dear God, as if he thought I might hit him. I back away, lowering my arms.

"Jesus, Al," I exclaim, retracing my steps back to the sofa, desperately trying to come to grips with the fact that after so many years as friends I hadn't thought to guard myself against the loss of Al from my life, and very much feeling the need to sit down right now.

I slump into the armchair as soon as I reach it, immediately leaning forward to bury my face in my hands, just trying to lessen the ache growing inside of me. How was any of this possible I wondered? It wasn't that long ago that Al and I had been laughing together and now absolutely nothing in my life made any sense at all. 

Despite my attempts to try and understand what up until a few minutes ago had been unimaginable I still manage to note the movement beside me and I lower my hands so that I can regard the man who over the years had become everything to me, for what I could only think now would be for the last time.

As I have already gathered Al has continued with his preparations to leave. He is standing by the door when I look up, his back to me, his luggage obviously giving him some difficulty as he fumbles with the doorknob. Under different circumstances I would get up and help him but assisting Al to abandon our relationship was by my definition, above and beyond the bounds of friendship.

"I honestly thought you were different," I tell him, barely recognizing my own voice and the bitterness I hear in it. An element, which does not escape the notice of Al either, it seems as he forgoes his attempts to open the door for the moment and turns to meet my eyes.

"I am, Sam. More than you know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan art included in this chapter.

Even with the distance separating us I can see the effort it takes for Al to deliver his message. Once again, his dark eyes are unnaturally bright and I feel the familiar pangs of responsibility cut through the maelstrom of emotions currently threatening to send my mind into overdrive.

I feel utterly exhausted, tired and confused beyond clear thought but I force myself to rise and then to take two very unsure footsteps towards where Al is huddled by the door. "But I did know." I say to him, imploring he listens to me. "Don't you see, it made no difference to me, Al? You were my friend and that was all that mattered." 

Much to my surprise Al does not immediately withdraw the moment I speak. Instead he holds my regard throughout my short speech, providing me with a glimmer of something that might be hope. Honestly though, I don't know if I can let myself hope for anything at this stage. 

I don't understand how he could think that I could hit him. Or that I would just turn him away because in a moment of weakness he had broken the unspoken agreement I believed we'd had in place all these years never to discuss his feelings. But it is all moot point now, I remind myself as I break eye contact with Al long enough to raise a hand to scrub at my face, the words had been said and the repercussions of them were being felt by both of us.

I sigh and lower my hand. Al is still maintaining his position by the door when look back over at him. He hasn't moved, nor is he giving any indication that he intends to respond to what I have just told him, and out of everything that has and hasn't been said tonight I find his silence the most difficult aspect to deal with. We have always been able to talk about everything. Everything except this, I think sadly. We had to try though, surely the years we've been friends counted for something.

"Did you hear what I said, Al?" I prompt, knowing very well that he had heard me but struggling with what to say next. "I knew all along." I repeat gently, cautiously taking another step toward him. 

After the way Al has been acting tonight I don't really expect a reply from him, and to be truthful I don't know what I am trying to achieve exactly, he's made it clear he doesn't think talking will change anything. He is still here however, his hands clutching his suitcase and coat as if they were a lifeline of sorts and it's strikes me the closer I get to him, that he has had plenty of time to leave if he really wanted to. Maybe, I think taking yet another step forward, if Al won't talk then perhaps he is still willing to listen.  
"Knowing didn't change how I felt about you," I say, letting my heart guide me as I veer off before I actually reach Al to sit down on the end of his vacated bed. I feel like I have run an emotional marathon in the last few minutes and I take a moment to rest and to gather my thoughts before I look up at the man who it seems, is waiting for me to continue. 

"Why should it?" I ask him. "You've never said or done anything to make me feel, as if I needed to alter my opinion of you in the slightest. When you said you loved me before I was surprised. It reminded me of…" I let my words trail off there, this wasn't about Donna and I couldn't keep comparing her leaving me to what was happening now with Al. "…It's just," I begin again. "All this time I thought you understood that I couldn't give any more than I did already. I care about you, Al, more than anyone else I know and to be perfectly honest I have no idea what to say to you except I don't want you to go."

For the first time since Al had made his intention to leave clear, I see a hint of something other than pain showing in his eyes. He turns slightly, his gaze searching mine with interest. "I know you don't plan on coming back, Al, and I don't just mean here. You won't be at the Project when I get back tomorrow, will you?"

Unlike the other questions I have asked Al tonight his reaction to my latest query is immediate, though not unexpected. "I can't." He informs me, solemnly. "Not now…"

"Why?" I ask, a little afraid I already know what his answer will be.

"Because it wouldn't work, Sam."

"You don't know that." I return. "Neither of us does."

Al shakes his head. "I know, Sam, and believe me it wouldn't work. I heard what you said, that it doesn't matter but I know you don't feel the same way. How could you? … You're straight."

I open my mouth to argue with Al and then close it again. There wasn't any point, I couldn't dispute what he was saying and no doubt it showed in my face. I glance away, staring at the carpeted floor near his feet. Earlier I had decided that my feelings in regards to his declaration had nothing to do with him being another man but I couldn't deny the fact that I have never had even the remotest interest in other men. I was, as Al had put it, straight. My sexuality had never been in question before now however, nor had it ever been a topic of conversation between us and I feel suddenly very self-conscious under his gaze.  
"Sooner or later you'd end up finding it does matter," Al is saying next, almost as if he knows what I am thinking about and I look back up at him wanting to prove him wrong. He appears a little less pained than before. More confident somehow and I can't help feel a twinge of my earlier anger towards him re-ignite as he goes on. 

"Trust me on this, Sam, it would start to effect the way you felt about having me around," he tells me and I look away again; pushing aside the thoughts as I do that if only he hadn't said anything we wouldn't be having this discussion at all. I wouldn't be sitting here feeling as if I had to defend myself about something that I didn't believe had anything to do with us being friends. Al didn't just want friendship though. He wanted something I couldn't give him, or anyone else. I close my eyes on that thought, recalling all the times I had caught the fleeting glimpses of the love I know Al feels for me shining in his expressive eyes and pretended I hadn't. 

It had been going on for years. A smile here and there, a glance that spoke volumes, yet no words had been necessary to express its true meaning. 

Years, I think as I open my eyes and then raise a hand to press against the sting forming behind them, that Al and I had spent working side by side towards what I had thought was a common goal and now I didn't know what was to become of it. The future we had planned together involved a partnership that included both of us and I never even considered what my life, let alone what my work would be without Al to share it with me. 

"What about the Project?" I ask him, sitting up a little on the bed. "I can't run it without you, Al." 

Once again I see the sight of the man who chose me above all others to believe in as Al's usual confident manner reasserted itself. "You can," he tells me. "And you will, Sam. I know you will." 

Al has always had the ability to sound so sure, to convince me that I could achieve anything I wanted no matter the situation, but not this time. "But I don't even know half of the people you deal with." I say, feeling desperate.

Al regards me silently for a moment but obviously the burden of holding his luggage for so long finally becomes too much for him and he bends slightly to set both his coat and suitcase down beside where he is standing; sighing heavily as he straightens. "Everything you need is in my office, Sam," he informs me patiently, pausing briefly to scratch at his cheek before he adds. "Or you can just ask Ziggy. Bloody computer keeps records of every call I make so you shouldn't have any trouble tracking anyone down."  
Al's last remark comes across somewhat off handed I think and even though a part of me is relieved that he has regained his composure enough so we can talk a larger part feels like he simply doesn't care what happens once he goes. 

This wasn't about whether I could manage or not and we both knew it. This was about the commitment we'd made together, and to each other. I feel the sting behind my eyes intensify and my frustration over having to talk about this at all mount. "The Committee has invested millions in us, Al. What am I expected to tell them when they find out you've gone and you're not coming back?" I demand, standing up then and challenging him to answer me. 

"I don't know, Sam," he replies, clearly more surprised by the suddenness of my movement than the question being asked. "But it's probably best if you just let me deal with them. I'll think of something." He finishes backing up as far as he is able given the door behind him. 

Once again I note the stiffening of Al's posture as he speaks and then the unnecessary bracing for an attack he plainly expects to eventuate before we part company. The reappearance of which and Al's now apparent disregard for what I will be faced with when I return home alone to New Mexico infuriates me.

I close the distance still separating us in a single stride. "How about the truth, Al?" I say, purposely crowding him as I wait for an answer that I know won't be forthcoming. 

We both know what the truth would do to Al's career if it should ever get out and I honestly can't explain how I could have sunk so low as to threaten him with exposure. 

It would completely destroy Al if any of what we were discussing here tonight left this room and me right along with him, I think, wishing I could take back what I had said. I mutter an apology; momentarily dropping my eyes from his before I look back again, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would come even close to being adequate under the circumstances. 

My dream and all our plans meant nothing without Al but I knew I should walk away now, try to salvage what I can of the Project rather than risk hurting either one of us anymore than what we already were. 

Shame and regret threaten to consume me as I stand regarding Al but I don't back off, even though I know that for both our sakes it would be better if I did. Nor do I look away from him and for untold moments I simply stare into the dark depths of his fear trimmed eyes as he returns my gaze; seeing myself reflected at the very centre of what I know are the windows to his soul.  
I feel hot and the room seems altogether too close but for reasons I can't name I cannot bring myself to do what I know I should. To turn around and not look back.

"I care about you," I manage through the multitude of emotions circulating between us. My voice is just above a whisper now and barely audible to my own ears over the sound of my pounding heart, but I press on. "But I don't understand how after all this time you could just leave, throw it all away when you say you love me?" I know my questions have already been asked but I can't seem to help myself, I need to say this. "People don't leave because they love one another, Al. They leave because they don't." My words are born of another time, rising from a place inside of me that still bears the scars left by a woman who would never love me as much as I knew Al did and the honesty in them isn't lost on either one of us. 

Standing as close as we are, I have felt the fear that had been radiating from Al over the past few minutes gradually diminish and as my words sink in, the tension between us is replaced with something else. It is hard to say exactly what it is but I find myself unable to move and not wanting to when Al slowly raises one trembling hand and then reaches toward me. 

"Sometimes, Sam," he whispers as he lays that same warm hand against the side of my face, tentatively testing the reception of his touch before he continues. "People leave because it's the only way to prove that they do."

I do my best to maintain eye contact with Al but my vision blurs as he speaks. The feel of his hand gently massaging my cheek fills me with feelings I can't identify and the tears that have been not far from the surface for some time now make it very difficult to focus on anything other than the finality of what he is telling me. 

It was really over. Al was going to leave and he was never coming back again. Not because our interests had gone in different directions but because he was in love with me. It didn't seem possible and yet all my life I have lost those I have loved or who love me and to this day I don't have the faintest idea how to stop it from happening. 

I want to protest, to tell Al he's wrong, that he has nothing to prove to me, and that all I have ever wanted was for him to be with me but as I open my mouth I feel my throat close over and not a single word is spoken.

I bow my head and I close my eyes, still trying to keep my tears at bay as I then reach blindly to cover the hand cupping my cheek with one of my own, feeling once again the warmth generated by Al's touch and at the same time committing the sensation to memory. My intention had been to remove his hand, to step back and to allow him to leave, as he clearly believed he should and under any other circumstances the gesture wouldn't have been a difficult one. Now I realised, holding Al's hand against my cheek, it felt like the hardest thing that I have ever been asked to do. It meant letting go of him. Giving up, when I knew in my heart that even though I couldn't say any more than what I have already, there was something I could do that might convince him to stay, and instead of releasing Al I draw the palm of his hand to my lips.

I feel Al tense slightly, but I don't let go of his hand. I'm not sure what I'm doing, or maybe I do and the acceptance of it still seems as strange as the feelings his touch invokes in me. I have known for years that he loved me and in all honesty there had been many times that I could have said something if only I hadn't been so afraid of the consequences. But what had I been afraid of my conscience inquires as I try to accustom myself with the texture of Al's very masculine hand pressed to my lips, inhaling as I do the familiar scent of his cigars mixed with the sweeter one of the joint he'd been enjoying. That after Donna anyone could love me? Or that it was possible, given a chance that I could return his feelings? Truly it was hard to say which frightened me more. But I don't get to ponder the exact origin of my trepidation for long as Al finally tires of having his hand held at what I could only imagine was an uncomfortable angle and tries once more to release himself from my grip.

"Please, Sam, don't make this harder than it already is," he says quietly, gently urging me to let him go. 

I don't react immediately and it's only a moment or two before I note the presence of Al's free hand smoothing my hair away from my face and feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek as he moves in closer to repeat his previous request. 

I can't lose him is all I can think and even though the alternative terrifies me I know I will spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been if I didn't at least try to abate my fears. Face what was being offered, my conscience echoes. No, I have never had the slightest interest in other men, but Al wasn't just another man. He is, as I have been reminded tonight, as much the centre of my universe as I knew I was his.

Time was fast running out for us and there was no more to be wasted on thought. On right or wrong, or anything else for that matter. It was now or never and I use the small advantage I have to slide Al's palm back to my cheek while he is still stroking my hair, so that for the moment at least, my face and both of our futures are held between his hands. I lean forward then, allowing my heart to guide to me once again.

"What are you doing?" Al whispers as my lips brush his. 

I open my eyes, struggling to focus and to deliver my answer through the host of feelings welling inside of me. "I want you to kiss me," I tell him.


	4. Chapter 4

The surprise my request awakens in Al's eyes doesn't last long and all too soon I see the pain of too many years of longing in silence turn to disbelief. "You don't mean that," he tells me, hastily extracting his hands from my own. "You can't, Sam. Please just let me leave…"

"No," I return, cutting Al off and catching him firmly by the arm as he tries to retrieve his luggage. "I have to know," I add, using my greater strength to pull him upright and to hold him against the door, but then fall short of saying the actual words aloud. Even in my mind, trying to articulate them was difficult. 

Al stares at me, his fear of me, of the situation between us increasing by the second. I know I shouldn't be restraining him the way I am. That judging from the way he has stiffened in my hold I am frightening him again, but I can't let him leave me. Not without knowing if after all these years it was possible for me to feel anything more than what I had allowed myself. 

"Please," I beg, wanting Al to understand what seemed impossible for me to say. "I don't want you to go. You said you loved me and you're leaving now because you don't think I could ever feel the same…" My words lose their momentum there and I stop. It had been almost ten years since I told anyone, with the exception of my family, that I loved them. I know what I feel for Al is love. There is no doubt in my mind of that. What I don't know is if loving him as I do is enough, or if I am doing him the greatest of all injustices by assuming he would help me find out? Our friendship means so much to me that I honestly can't imagine what would be worse now. To let him go and spend the rest of my life wondering or following through with my plan only to discover that even after trying, I wasn't capable of loving Al in the way he wanted? 

Failure has always been my greatest fear, and now, when I needed to remind myself that nothing could be discovered by simply wondering about it, seemed to be no different. I shake my head. My thoughts jumbled, my heart rising to my throat once again. 

Al continues to stare at me, equally confused I believe. His body rigid as he waits for me to go on. I can't find the words though. I'm not even sure what they should be now. The courage I had summoned to make my offer in the first place has completely deserted me; gone the way of my dreams and our plans for the future, I think glancing away. 

My eyes fall on the hand I still have curled around Al's upper arm and I know that I have no choice, I have to release him. I can't justify holding him against his will and with that thought in mind I let go of his arm and then step away, watching as he rubs the area where I had held him. 

I feel the heat of embarrassment rise in my cheeks as Al tends to his arm. I am very ashamed of my behaviour tonight thus far but all I can manage to say in my own defence is the truth. "I know you don't believe me, Al but I meant what I said…I want you to kiss me." 

Al is still obviously wary of me, and frankly I can't say I blame him, but the look in his eyes softens as he slowly works the circulation back into his arm. "Oh, Sam," he says gently, sighing as he finishes and drops both his hands to his sides. "Maybe that's what you think you want. That it's what I want. But you can't change who you are and I don't expect you to. Not for me, Sam." Al's words are full of pity and his expression is one of deep regret. The appearance of which tugs at my heart mercilessly. 

It's hard to speak, to see him so clearly grieved by the situation but so adamant that the only way to resolve it was to end our relationship. "Why not?" I ask, wishing I understood. "You're my friend, Al…I care about you. What we have together."

"I know you do," he tells me, managing a small sad smile before he goes on and growing increasingly more serious as he does. "But it's not a good enough reason, Sam. You can't just put yourself in that kind of position because you think it's what someone else wants. It doesn't work that way. You start trying to change yourself for others and you're only going to end up in situations that we both know you haven't got the faintest idea how to get yourself out of. You'll end up getting yourself hurt, Sam, and neither of us wants that."

Al is right of course, and under any other circumstances what he has said would be considered good advice to anyone who was lucky enough to receive it. But for me, who was still trying to come to terms with the changes that have occurred between us over past hour, his words only add to my turmoil. 

I turn away. The few tears that I hadn't been able to hold back earlier have dried on my cheeks, leaving the flesh beneath them uncomfortably tight and I raise a hand to wipe my face and to cover the new ones forming in my eyes; pinching the bridge of my nose to hold them back. It doesn't help though and as I lower my hand I feel the length and various events of the day catching up with me once more. My limbs feel as if they are quite literally weighted with lead and I know I need to sit down again, to try and sort out what I feel, and what if anything, I can do about it. 

Al has fallen silent again but I spare him a quick glance, assuring myself that he hasn't simply picked up his luggage in the last few moments and just left before I make my way back to the armchair I have occupied periodically through the evening. 

I sit down on the edge of the chair when I reach it, checking on Al one more time before I lean forward to retrieve the bottle I had previously peeled the label from, turning it slowly in my hands as I turn over in my mind what he has said to me.  


I understand that in Al's eyes, I had only asked him to kiss me because I had thought that was what he wanted, and yes, partly it was true, but it wasn't my only motivation. Far from it. The feel of his hands against the sides of my face had filled me with such warmth. Such a feeling of being loved, that I know if similar intimacy had been offered by anyone other than Al, I would have shunned it. Even now, the memory of his touch lingered, stirring something inside of me that I had thought I would never feel again. Hadn't wanted to. I close my eyes briefly on that thought, swallowing hard and stilling my hands in a vain attempt to stop the bottle from shaking. It doesn't help, my hands, along with the rest of my body continues to tremble simply from the residual memory, the tiny flicker of desire I had felt when Al had touched me and there is no way to hide the fact. I open my eyes again, knowing that even though he hasn't said anything since I sat down, he is watching me like a hawk. 

Shifting slightly, I glance over at Al. My suspicions are confirmed as he returns my gaze intently. Just looking at him now twists my heart almost unbearably and I look away again, focusing on the empty bottle in my hands and shuddering when he calls my name impatiently.

"I'm okay." I reply without looking up, anticipating Al's next question and recognizing the urgency in his voice as concern, but do so anyway as my curiosity then gets the better of me when I hear the unmistakable sounds of him crossing the room. 

Al seats himself a moment later in the opposite armchair. "You don't look it," he informs me. The concern I had noted in his voice now evident by the creases deeply furrowing his brow. 

Despite what I knew must be obvious to Al I shrug my shoulders. "I'm okay," I repeat, settling myself a little further back in my chair as I speak so that I can see him better. Frankly though, I don't know why I can't just tell him I'm not. Lying to Al had always been pointless and I don't understand why I'm bothering to now. What did I hope to achieve?

It was odd and I glance down at the low table separating us to ponder why I still felt it necessary to hide my true feelings from the man who had inspired something in me that after all my careful avoidance of love, I wouldn't have thought possible. I can't explain it, don't know what it means. But why should I, I ask myself looking back up at Al, when even my own heart seemed to be a mystery to me. 

As I expected he would be, Al is clearly unconvinced by my response and I know from experience and the way that he is regarding me now that if I don't give him something more definite he will keep pressing until he gets the truth. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, absently fingering the fabric on the arm of my chair and wondering as I do if I could delay his leaving by simply not giving him what I know he wanted. It had been too long a day already however, and to be honest I couldn't imagine a worse way to finish this than by wasting what time we did have left together.  


I needed to make more of an effort than I was. Find a way to either tell Al exactly what being with him means to me or to let him go. Forever. It wasn't easy though and judging from the concern in his eyes finding the appropriate words seemed to be the least of my problems right now. My behaviour tonight has been, to put it mildly, uncharacteristic and I know that he is worried about me. For the moment it will stand in my favour that he is but it can't last indefinitely. Sooner or later Al is going to think I have shown the full extents of what I am capable of now that I have been faced with losing him and then he will just get up and go. Also because of the way I have behaved, the likelihood of him believing that my request for him to kiss me had been made out of my genuine desire to bridge the gap between friendship and something more was slim at best. 

I sigh, unsure of how with everything that has happened I am going to convince Al I had meant what I had said. I feel like I am damned if I do and damned if I don't at least make some attempt to clear the air between us but time seems to stretch unnaturally as we sit quietly together. Long minutes spent avoiding his eyes and during which I try repeatedly to come up with a way to tell him what in the end, I know I must. I had to I realized. I couldn't stop him from leaving if that was what he really wanted to do, but I knew, if nothing else, that letting him leave without telling him I loved him more than anything else on this planet was going to haunt me for the rest of my days if I didn't. 

Even with my decision made I wait a couple more minutes before I force myself to lean forward to redeposit the bottle I am still holding back on the table, turning it contemplatively a number of times before I finally let go and raise my eyes to Al. 

"Are you going to have another?" he inquires the instant our gazes meet. 

Another beer is what Al is referring to and I shake my head, certain that even though I was not sure what would provide me with the courage I still lacked, more alcohol wasn't it.

"No," I tell him. "I think I've had enough." I add, settling myself back into my chair and resting both my arms on the supports provided. 

Al doesn't answer but it's clear he agrees with me. Technically, we are pretty even on the alcohol score but I doubt bringing that up is going to be overly helpful at the moment. If Al thinks I made my offer because I had drunk more than I should have then there isn't a lot I can do about it, and denying it certainly won't make him change his mind. 

I let the subject rest while I continue to try and gauge what Al's reaction will be to what I am about to tell him. He is avoiding my eyes now, staring off into space to some point I can't discern and appearing as he has for much of our discussion tonight, tired and at the brink of his endurance. I can't let it sway me though. I can't put this off any longer.  
"What if it is what I want, Al?" I ask, surprised that despite the pounding of my heart and the renewed anxiety growing inside of me my words come out clear. Too clear to be misinterpreted I think as Al's eyes shift from their point of interest to mine, narrowing suspiciously. 

"Well it depends on what you want?" he questions. "If you want another drink then I guess it's up to you, Sam. You're over twenty-one." 

Al knows very well what I'm asking him, I am certain of it, but why he now seems to be purposely avoiding the only real issue of importance between us I can't explain. "Yes, I am," I tell him, pressing on. "Well and truly over twenty one, Al. But having another drink isn't what I'm talking about."

The look in Al's eyes alters as I speak; becoming something that resembles a challenge, I think. A warning I realise, against continuing. I don't understand why that is but whatever the reason I feel decidedly uneasy. 

"Al?" I prompt gently, hoping for an answer to my unspoken question, something that would give me an indication what it was that was going on behind his serious expression? 

I wait expectantly for a moment or two but there is no reply from Al, just a mounting fear that he already knows what I am about to say but he doesn't want to hear it. I don't understand but the indecision that has dogged me for much of this evening returns once again to taunt me. Have I done so much damage that nothing I say will be believed I wonder? 

I glance away at that; feeling as I do that having Al's trust all the years we've been friends has been a gift. A gift that I had accepted without ever considering how much I would ultimately treasure it and then with just as little thought, taken it for granted. 

My heart constricts painfully in my chest. There was no way to change what had occurred already, nothing that I could say that would take back what had been said in anger and out of frustration. I couldn't leave it that way though. Al may not want to hear what I have to say but I could not spend the rest of my days without speaking the words aloud at least once. 

"I love you," I whisper and then lift my gaze to the one my words were intended for, moistening my lips before I finish what I had begun. "I meant what if I want to be with you, Al? For us to be together…"


	5. Chapter 5

_"Together,"_ Al barks before my words are even out, simultaneously rising to his feet in a way that reminds me why I had always considered his presence on board of the Project to be asset. 

But despite my familiarity with most, if not all of Al's various reactions under pressure and my best efforts to stay calm, I recoil at the sound of his voice and the sight of him coming toward me. 

When the occasion called for it, Al could be very blunt. The reason he was so good at his job as administrator was because of his direct, and no nonsense approach with the different parties we had to deal with. He had always been gentler with me though, and as I watched him round the coffee table to come and stand directly in front of where I was sitting I truly wished he would remember that now 

"As what?" he is demanding next, towering over me and commanding my attention. "Do you even know what you're asking for?" he goes on, the sheer force of his words freezing me where I sit.

The answer to Al's question is no, but I can't tell him that. I know that if I do, he will simply continue as he is now, treating me as if I do not know my own mind, and for a moment we simply stare at one another. Al apparently waiting for me to admit what I am convinced he has already guessed, and with me desperately trying to come up with a suitable response that won't have him heading for the door. 

"You don't, do ya, Sam?" Al finally says as he backs off a little. Clearly believing he was right all along, if his satisfied expression was anything to judge by.

"I know I care about you," I tell him, struggling now to keep an even tone to my voice. "And that you care about me, Al."

"I care about a lot of people, Sam. Hell, I even care about that numskull you've hired to take care of Ziggy, but I don't wanna play tonsil hockey with him any time soon, or dream about jumping his bones."

I wince. I know Al is only trying to make a point but just the thought of being close enough to kiss our head programmer made my stomach turn. Sure, Gooshie came highly recommended and since his arrival at the Project he has proven himself more than capable of running my hybrid computer. However, he also suffers from the worst case of halitosis I have ever come across and I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to kiss him, let alone Al. It was the other part of Al statement that had me particularly curious though, if not slightly disturbed. 

"You dream about me?" I ask, not sure how I felt about this new revelation. 

Over the years we've been friends Al has found his way into my dreams once or twice, but there had never been anything remotely untoward about his appearances from what I recall. Thinking about it now though, it stood to reason that while he had kept his feelings for me well hidden, his sub-conscience might have explored what had been impossible any other way.

Al appears surprised by my question but his slight pause before answering me lasts just long enough for me to begin regretting asking it in the first place. "Yes," he finally admits, sounding tired and frustrated as he raises a hand to scrubs at his face. "And if you need to ask me about what, Sam, then it's pretty obvious you haven't thought about this at all."

Not as much as I probably should of, I realise as the continuing lack of patience in Al's voice reminds me that he was still trying to make his point here and I have just given him a perfect opportunity to prove how unprepared I am for what I have offered him. Something that must of shown on my face because no sooner has the thought taken shape, the short distance he had backed up is re-taken again.

"On second thoughts, maybe you do need to ask -- for me to spell it out to you, Sam," he informs me, suddenly invading my personal space in a way that makes me want to draw back. There is nowhere to go though. I am already pressed to the back of the arm-chair as it is, and before I can think that standing up and putting a little distance between us is my safest option Al's hands come down to close around my wrists, trapping me. 

"I think I can guess," I assure him, trying to sound casual and at the same time to free myself without alerting Al to the fact that I was now certain that I did not need to know what part I had played in his dreams.

"No, Sam," he says dryly. "I don't think you can." 

Al has been telling me all along that I am way out of my depths but I had not believed him, or honestly thought that anything could happen between us that I could not handle, now though, I am not so sure. My heart is pounding at a furious rate of knots and I am well past being able to relax. To pretend. I twist my wrists, trying to release myself from Al's grasp but at this angle and with him obviously using all of the strength in his arms to hold me in place I can't seem to get enough leverage to do what I need to escape. His breath is hot against the side of my already heated face as he leans in and my mind registers the insistent press of one of his knees slipping between my own as he effectively makes more space to stand in.  


"They always start out the same way," Al begins slowly, evening stubble tickling my cheek while faint traces of pot and his favourite cologne invade my senses. "It's dark and we're driving in the desert, just the two of us. We're laughing and kidding around, but things are steadily getting more serious so I find a place for us to stop and then spread a blanket out on the ground beside the car." Each word of Al's commentary is uttered low and seductively and it's impossible not to picture the scene he is describing, or to imagine myself a part of it. I close my eyes as he goes on but it doesn't help and I open them again, hoping something, anything will distract me from the call to listen. 

"Usually this is where the similarity ends, because as soon as I get everything nice and comfortable and I kneel down beside you they veer off. But that's what makes them all different, Sam. All special. God, sometimes you're like a man possessed and I have trouble just trying to keep up with you. Then there are other times and it's like I'm your first and you want me to take it slow. I would be though, wouldn't I love?" he asks, apparently not expecting or needing me to confirm what we are both fully aware of as without even the hint of hesitation he picks up where he left off. 

"You want me to kiss you, Sam, to touch you all over until you cry out…Jeez it all feels so real. I can feel you, taste you when you..." Al pauses there, trying to catch his breath I think, or perhaps he is deciding if he should continue or not. His breathing is ragged now and I can feel the trembling in his body as his leg presses impossibly close to my groin. Whether it's out of anger or arousal I'm not sure, all I can think is that he has proven his point and there was really no need to go on. Then, after what seems like ages, but in reality can't be more than a few seconds he pulls back, staring down at me in a way that I suspect is to gauge what effect, if any, his words are having on me. 

I can only imagine how I must look to Al. My face flushed, cringing away from him, when it had only been a short time ago I had told him I loved him; that I wanted a relationship with him that crossed the bounds of anything else we have ever done before. I must look like a fool, God only knows I feel like one. I swallow hard and then open my mouth to say something, but I know it's too late and nothing comes out.

"Do you want me to go on, Sam?" he whispers and I shake my head, glancing away then to look anywhere but at Al. My heart is still pounding faster than it should be, making it difficult to think, to rationalize why I feel as I do. God I feel so ashamed and the slow burn behind my eyes threatens to makes matters worse, even though I can't imagine how much worse things could get right now. 

I twist my wrists again to indicate to Al that I want him to let me go and thankfully this time he does. He moves away when he has but I don't look up to locate him in the room. There are red hand-shaped marks where he had held me and I rub them gently, only I don't know why. Al hadn't hurt me, nor do I think he ever had any intentions of doing so. I know he was only trying to show me in no uncertain terms that I had no right making offers such as I had when I wasn't willing, or able to live with the consequences. And in that regard he had succeeded, because no matter how much I wanted to be able to accept Al and the feelings I had for him I could not imagine making love with him.  


I bury my face in my hands and close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears welling behind them and to block out what Al had said to me. Neither is averted for long however and as his account, specifically the mention of being my first plays over in my mind once more my tenuous control finally deserts me. God, what was wrong me? I begged silently, ruing my inability to get a grip on myself and the situation between Al and I as I hurriedly wiped at my face. Was I really so naïve? I wondered. Had I honestly thought that saying the words would suddenly fix everything? That the fact that Al was another man wouldn't matter as soon as I had, and all the fear and awkwardness I felt would automatically be erased simply because I wanted it to be?

There are no answers to my questions. No rhyme or reason to any of it, and my heart knots and my mind swims in ever increasing circles as I try to understand why Al could awaken so much else in me but not erase the fear that I knew would keep us apart. 

Tired and confused I stand without realising I have, searching the room for something…I am not sure what. I feel lost, disorientated, as if over the last hour I have been torn from my moorings and for the first time in my life I don't know which way to turn, what to do next. Al, I note is sitting hunched over on the edge of his bed and much to my surprise he appears as bewildered as I feel at this moment. I don't understand why though. Wasn't this what he wanted, I ask myself? To prove me for the fool I am. He straightens a little as we regard one another, paused, waiting it seems, as if he expects me to say something even though he offers nothing in the way of conversation himself. There was nothing left to say that hadn't been said already though and for the first time tonight I wished he would just take his bags and leave. Let me do what I needed to now so I could get on with the rest of my life. I turn away from him, still wanting things between us to be different, for me to be different but knowing as I stepped around the coffee table and the general disorder in the room that wanting and wishing was not going to change anything. It was late and if I were going to fly home alone tomorrow then I needed to get some sleep. 

The bathroom seems the best place to start getting ready for bed and that's where I head. I close and lock the door as soon as I am inside and then I do the only thing left to do, I let my heart break.


	6. Chapter 6

Somewhere, amongst my tears and the sad realisation that I have lost my best friend because I could never love him the way he wanted me to, my mind registers knocking on the bathroom door and Al's raised voice coming from the other side.

"Sam," he calls, "come on kid, open the door."

He sounded worried and my first instinct was to do as he had requested, but I only get as far as reaching for the lock before my hand stills on the twisting doorknob. I couldn't bear another round of what we had both endured over the past hour. I had told Al I loved him, yet it had made no difference. I don't know what I was thinking or why I thought it would change anything, but it didn't matter anymore. It was over. He was leaving and I was getting on with my life, I remind myself. 

I release the knob and let my hand fall back to my side before I step away from the door. I know it's pretty unlikely that Al can hear me moving around but no sooner have I taken a couple of steps back his knocking increases and his requests for me to open the door become more insistent. 

"Please, Sam, we need talk. I'm sorry I said what I did. I didn't mean to frighten you but you had to know. You have to understand…" 

Al goes on, trying in his own unique way to apologize and to convince me that he had only been acting with my best interests at heart, but I don't want to hear any of what he has to say. I turn away, doing my best to ignore him and my tear streaked reflection in the bathroom mirror as I sit down on the closed toilet seat and cover my ears with my hands. I know I am being childish but I can't seem to help myself. I don't want to listen to him or think about any of the things we have discussed tonight, especially not the dreams he said he had about me. I could never be the man Al dreamt about, no matter the difference I know it would make to both of us. There was no us, I chide myself, our friendship was over. Fifteen years of mutual support and companionship, the likes of which I know I will never find again -- all gone. 

I squeeze my eyes closed but it does nothing to stop the memories of our life together, or feelings that I had scarcely allowed myself admit to and which bombard me, seemingly without mercy as I sit with my hands clamped firmly over my ears. But as the enormity of my loss steadily grows inside of me, my efforts to block out the sound of Al's voice quickly becomes a complete waste of time. I feel as if there is a void forming inside of me where hope had once shone, that the bright and unrelenting light that was present whenever we were together is slowly fading right along with my ability to ignore his protests. 

Without either opening my eyes or lowering my hands, I call out. "Please stop. Oh God, Al if you really do love me then just go," I beg him, wanting more than anything for him to do as I ask. 

I lean forward then, rocking myself a little, as I allow my tears to fall once more. I just want Al to leave now; it is the only way I will be able to get on with the rest of my life and yet the mere thought of him going makes me feel as if the world could end tomorrow and I wouldn't care.

Time passes, it could have been hours or only minutes but eventually I uncover my ears in preference to the small amount of solace that I know my arms will offer me and wrap them around my upper body - holding and rocking myself in the absence of a friend or a lover. And perhaps it's because I am too busy trying to deal with the thoughts and feelings that torment and for a time do overwhelm me, but even as I note the familiar presence bending down in front of me I have no recollection of the bathroom door being forced open or Al's entry. 

Bewildered I sit up, looking from Al to the breached door and then back again. His eyes track my own and when they finally do meet again I am not sure what to make of the man steadily returning my gaze, or his actions. For what feels like ages, neither of us speaks to the other. I don't know what to say to him or how to express what I feel. I don't even know if his being here now is something to celebrate, or if this it is simply another delaying of the inevitable. 

"Why are you crying, Sam?" Al finally does ask me, his voice uncharacteristically devoid of emotion as he stands up and steps away from where I am siting. 

Rationally I know it is not possible to forget anything as painful as what I have gone through since seeking refuge in here, but it is only when Al draws a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and hands it to me that I remember the sight of my reflection in the mirror. 

Accepting what is being offered I divert my eyes and then wipe my face. I am not exactly sure why I had succumbed to tears when everything else I had tried had failed. I know it wasn't because I had thought Al would feel sorry for me. God, I hadn't wanted him to see me like this, I think as I finish with my face. 

"Sam?" Al prompts the moment I lower the handkerchief he has given me. 

I don't have an answer for him though, not one that I think he is going to understand anyway and I shake my head, dismissing the idea of actually telling him what I thought had finally brought me to tears. 

Just having Al close again when I was trying so hard to let him go made it difficult to think straight and I keep my eyes cast downward as I fold and then refold the now damp cloth in my hands. Why did he want to know anyway? He'd made it very clear he didn't think I knew what I was doing, and that my feelings for him weren't important enough to stay and try and work this out. Why make me explain what I can't change? I wondered. It didn't make sense.

"What do you care?" I ask as my confusion briefly overrides my misery. 

There is a longer than usual pause before Al answers me and for a moment I don't think he is going to. "I care, Sam. I always have, it's just you and I have different ideas on how we care for those we love."  


I shake my head again, only this time I find the courage I need to look back at him. "If this is where you tell me you're leaving for my own good, then don't waste your breath." I tell him.

The bathroom isn't very large and Al is only standing a few feet away from where I am still perched on the closed toilet seat. Leaning against the sink for support he has his arms folded across his chest now and appears strangely calm compared to how he has for the latter part of this evening. He doesn't seem overly surprised by what I have said though, and I find myself feeling suddenly wary of him as I watch him push away from the sink and step towards me. 

Standing in front of where I am sitting Al's closeness once again fills me with a warmth and familiarity that I now wish I did not feel. I don't want to feel anything, least of all what he had inspired in me earlier and I glance away again, knowing it would make everything so much easier if I could just stop myself from feeling altogether. Despite my best intentions to do just that, I flinch when, without warning Al reaches out to me. His touch is unexpected and both startles and serves only to confuse me further, though for reasons I cannot explain I have no desire to pull away from him and do not attempt to do so. 

"No, Sam," he tells me as he takes a firmer hold on my arm and urges me to my feet. "This is where I tell you to get up, wash your face and then come out into the living room." 

Al's tone of voice is as firm as his grasp, and disallows any thought I might have had of arguing with him. Albeit begrudgingly I do as he says, wavering a little as my legs threaten not to cooperate at first. But even as we stand toe to toe again I find it difficult to understand why after everything that has happened tonight Al is still here. Why he didn't just leave when he had the chance to, or when I asked him to?

We are so close now it is hard not to look at him or not see the affection in his gaze, the sight of which makes my heart miss a beat and reminds me of the true depths of Al's feelings for me. And of mine for him. I swallow hard. "Why?" I manage, truly confused by my own conflicting emotions and his apparent need to see me settled before he goes. 

There is only the slightest hesitation before Al answers this time, and subsequently releases me. "Because if you and I are going to talk, Sam, then I'm sure as hell not going to do it while you're sitting on the head," he says stepping away from me again. 

As Al makes his way to the door, pausing briefly to push it back against the wall, it is clear that he plans on leaving me alone while I clean up. There is no need though; anything he wants to say to me isn't going to take long and it would be better for both of us if he just tells me what he has on his mind and gets it over with. In my heart I know Al has to leave but there is still a part of me that wants him to stay with me, to understand and accept me as I am. I know it wouldn't be fair though, on him or me. 

"I can't," I call out, halting Al's retreat before he gets very far and stepping forward myself. "You were right, there's no point," I continue as soon as he turns around again, my heart twisting painfully in my chest as I tell him what he has to know. "I can't change who I am. I can't be who you want me to be and talking about it won't change anything." 

For a moment Al simply stares at me, his brow furrowing deeply as we regard one another. "Who I want you to be, Sam?" he questions, slowly closing the distance between us once more. "I'm sorry kid, I don't understand. I don't want you to be anyone other than who you are."

The closer Al gets to me the more I want to back up, to be not having this conversation with him at all but I know I can't stop what is already in motion, or perhaps what has to be said for the air to be finally cleared between us. 

"I already told you that," he goes on. "Jesus, Sam, weren't you listening to anything I said?" 

Despite my wishes to the contrary I had heard every word Al had said to me tonight, much of which is too painful to even think about and will I suspect, haunt me for the rest of my life. First he'd told me he loved me, but that had been a mistake because he hadn't ever wanted me to find out, and then… I look away, unable to even finish the thought. It was too much and I ball my fists, wishing as I have for much of this night that I could just go back to a time when I lived in peaceful ignorance. 

I want to turn away again, to stop feeling as I do but in the time it has taken for me to completely lose control of my senses Al has closed the distance between us and is making sure I do not escape him. Holding me firmly by my shoulders he demands I answer him.

"Yes," I tell him, "I heard you. You said you loved me and then you said you had to leave because it wouldn't work between us…" My voice breaks under the effort to finish and the unwanted feelings of loss and longing make it almost impossible to do so. I choke on the last, tears stinging my eyes once more but there is nothing I can do to stop their flow. 

The strong hands holding me in place move to cup my cheeks as I weep, forcing me to look at the man who has inspired them. I can barely focus on Al; a fact that he must be aware of, though it does nothing to deter him.  


"Because I didn't want to let myself think for a moment that it could," he tells me. "I don't want you to change, Sam, for me or anyone else. I know who you are and just what you're capable of. How far you will go and what's too much for you." 

The last is offered breathlessly, so apologetically that I know instinctively that Al is referring to his attempt me to frighten me off. It doesn't seem possible that he could know as much about me as he seems to think he does. A part of me wishes he would stop assuming so much but as he carefully thumbs away each new tear as it falls and my vision clears, I know that it's true. That no matter what I say or do Al already knows that I could never promise him anything more than what we have always shared and it didn't matter to him. It never had. He loved me and would continue to do so despite our differences. Putting distance between us would not change his feelings, or mine, I realise as he continues. 

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm so used to looking out for you that I forget sometimes to give you the credit you deserve for knowing the same things about yourself that I do. I shouldn't have doubted your sincerity or let you think I didn't care about what you felt."

I'm not sure what to do, or to say to Al. He is still cradling my face between his hands, studying me closely and hushing me gently from time to time as he waits patiently for me to absorb what he has said. It is not easy though, we are so close that it's almost as if we are breathing the same air now. The thought of which is intoxicating in a way I had not expected and I feel suddenly very unsteady on my feet as my world seems to be tilting around me once more, shifting as a new understanding is formed between Al and I. 

Acceptance was what I wanted most of all from Al and now it appears that I have it; it feels too good to be true. I close my eyes, trying to ground myself and to will away the incessant sting behind them but as soon as I do, he is drawing me closer and I open them again.

"Before," Al whispers. His voice is less steady now, though it remains as warm as the hands he has pressed to my face in spite of the fact they are trembling also. "Did you mean what you said? Do you want me to go, Sam?"

Right from the beginning of all of this, I hadn't wanted Al to leave, and for the time I had, my heart had felt as if it would never recover. I didn't know what would happen to us, what would become of our relationship if he were to remain. If I would ever be able to be more than the man I was now, or if some time in the future we would both discover that the door we had opened tonight should have stayed closed all along. What I did know was that I loved Al and everything else would have to be left up to God, fate or chance. 

"No," I reply, finally finding my own voice amidst the emotion that threatened to silence me again at any moment. "I don't want you to go. I never wanted you to leave in the first place…" 

I can't say any more even though I know that there is a great deal more I should say at this point. I let my words trail off instead; accepting that if Al believes my answer there would be time for us to talk later. Judging from the level of relief on his face what I have managed is enough for him and as I stand waiting for him to acknowledge as much, I see what I imagine is a weight akin to the world lifted from his shoulders. He doesn't answer me but leans forward, briefly resting his forehead against my own before he lowers his hands and moves as if he intends to pull away. There is little conviction in his gestures however and I take the chance that he doesn't really want to just yet. 

My arms feel as if they do not belong to me as I wrap them around Al's slim frame but as he shifts to accommodate the slight difference in our heights and returns my embrace the initial awkwardness I feel slowly dissipates. Now resting his head on my shoulder Al seems to simply melt into my arms.

As right as it feels he still hasn't answered me and with all the changes that have occurred tonight I find myself needing more than just his presence here to convince me this was real. That I wasn't going to wake up and find that I have been dreaming.

I tighten my arms, inhaling Al's cologne and the other scents that are uniquely his, trying to reassure myself but it's still not enough. "You're not going to are you?" I ask. 

"No," he sighs, squeezing me a little in return. "If that's what you want, Sam, then I'll stay." 

There are no words to describe the relief I feel or the enormity of the step I know I have taken tonight. Only an hour ago our lives had seemed so simple. We worked together and shared a common goal, whereas now our futures stood uncertainly before us, and would I knew, be guided by something I had all but convinced myself would never again be a part of my life. 

I am not sure how long we stand together, holding one another. But as I feel Al becoming restless, his hands slowly gliding over my back, and then his lips lightly brushing my cheek as he lifts his head it seems like the most natural thing in the world to turn and meet them with my own. I close my eyes as Al hesitates, waiting for him to accept that despite all the uncertainty surrounding us this is something I want and thankfully it is only a second or two before he understands. Kissing me with all the care one would bestow on an innocent, Al's lips are soft and gentle as they skim over mine. For a first kiss, it is chaste -- infinitely careful to begin with, as both of us it seems are too afraid to ask more of the other. 

It is hard to say exactly at what point I open my eyes or which one of us pulls back first. Or even to put into words what passes between us during the seconds before he re-initiates the kiss that I know even as I feel myself drowning in him will change the rest of my life. If this is my destiny though, to be with the man who has given me so much more than mere friendship then I can do no less than follow his lead and not look back. 

The End.


End file.
